


Clicheville: Office

by Dryad



Series: Clicheville [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst-lite, F/M, Rating: NC17, deep thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully's got great gams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clicheville: Office

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This version is very slightly different from previous postings.

J.Edgar Hoover Bldg.  
9:02 AM  
X Files Office

 

What was it with white hose? Mulder leaned back in his chair and  
frowned, chewing on the end of his pen and staring at the woman  
sitting at the desk opposite. Scully was gracing him with her presence  
this morning, legs crossed, reading over autopsy reports of some case  
or another. Occasionally she made a note on her laptop. She was in  
technicolor today - christ, he was glad, he was beginning to think she  
was going to wear funereal black for the rest of her life. Which wasn't  
to say he didn't like her in black, but good Lord, every single day?

Anyway, a teal skirt suit, black heels, and white hose. Tights.  
Stockings. Whatever. He couldn't recall ever seeing her wear another  
color. Not even nudes, and god knew he'd looked often enough. There  
were good reasons why he walked behind her. But there was  
something so juvenile about white, so little-girl-going-to-church on a  
Sunday morning. He sighed and gave his sleeves one more roll up his  
forearms. White was just too damned innocent, too virginal, and she  
was far from either. And he meant that in a good way.

Mulder didn't usually obsess over his partner, but today, well, he'd  
ended up watching some chick flick on Lifetime late last night and  
today, today he just felt like watching Scully. Such a stupid movie,  
too, full of romance with a capital R, the kind he didn't believe existed.  
She'd be greatly amused if she knew. In fact he could hear her already  
\- 'Wait, you're telling me you believe in UFO's and Elvis, but not  
romance?'

Maybe it came from reading too much English Literature, but to him  
romance always involved suffering. A lot of suffering. Yet on  
Lifetime, give a gal a bunch of roses and a box of Godiva on Valentine's  
Day and she's yours for life.

Yeah.

Right.

Did they live happily ever after? He doubted it. After all, who wanted  
to marry a person who thought in Hallmark Moments? Did everyone  
except him believe in the sappiness of a man on the sticky boardwalk  
of a seaside esplanade, or on bended knee in a restaurant, hoping the  
waiter remembered to bring the object of his affections the diamond  
laced dessert? Or could it all be chalked up to a lack of imagination?  
Maybe it was him who lacked the sentimentality of the moment,  
maybe he'd seen too much, done too much. Maybe cynicism was  
taking over his life. "Hey Scully, do you think I'm a romantic person?"

She eyed him over the rim of her glasses, fingers still tapping away,  
then finally stopping. "Why, do you have a date?"

He wondered if she practiced that look in the mirror. "No."

Lips pursed, she remained silent for a small eternity. "Defining  
romance in terms of the commonly held opinions that flowers and  
chocolates, moonlight and lingerie are all that's needed, absolutely  
not."

Thank god for that, then. Still didn't answer his question, though.

"If you count loyalty, passion, integrity, and strength, of course you  
are."

"But those are qualities of character, Scully, not romantic attributes.  
Women don't often prefer strength in lieu of a gold ring and a  
honeymoon in Barbados."

Removing her glasses, she turned to face him. "I don't think you're  
giving women enough credit, Mulder. Many of us are far more  
discerning, and would happily settle for a proposal over a cup of coffee  
at lunch provided the person asking had all those qualities of  
character you so easily dismissed but a moment ago."

"So in your estimation a strong character makes up for a deficit in  
modern romantic ideas?"

"No," Scully looked at her glasses, slowly twisting them in her hands.  
When she looked up again her eyes were hooded and unreadable. "Are  
we speaking personally here, Mulder?"

Certainly appeared that way, although he hadn't intended this to be  
an examination of her own opinions on the subject. He shrugged.

She nodded slowly. "I think it depends on one's Princess Factor. If you  
believe that stuffed animals and unbearably cute cards are the way to  
your heart, then you'll find a man who can provide that for you. If, on  
the other hand, you're looking for a man who can provide only the gift  
of himself, warts and all, plus the promise of a life shared," she lifted  
one shoulder in a shrug. "Princess versus the Ugly Sister. It's all about  
expectation."

"Are you saying some women find strength of character more  
appealing than any gift?"

"Character is the gift, Mulder, one which you have in abundance,"  
when he didn't say anything in response she slipped her glasses back  
on and made another note on her computer.

Well, it was good to know he had a chance with some hypothetical  
woman out there. "Does that mean I'm a catch?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," she said, not even bothering to look away from  
the screen. "You're a catch. It's a wonder the phone lines aren't busy  
with women tripping over themselves to land a date with you."

Yee-owch. He wondered if she thought about the two of them in a  
more intimate relationship. Probably. Hell, he did. Mulder winced  
and flipped a few pencils into the ceiling. Scully shot him an irritated  
glare as she stood up and walked into the back room.

"Don't you have anything to do?" she called, lightly stepping onto the  
ladder.

"I'm doing, I'm doing."

"Something useful."

He sighed and rose, stretched the kinks out of his back, glanced at  
Scully. Ah. She stood on her toes halfway up the moving ladder,  
poking into a box of old files. Her skirt had ridden up, white-clad  
knees barely visible in the slit in the back, calf muscles firm and  
bunched. She really did have the most delicious pair of legs.

Mulder found himself standing behind her, one hand around her  
ankle, staring up into an expressionless pair of blue eyes.

"Mulder, what do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know?" Not the best of replies, but the truth. To his very great  
surprise and secret delight, she neither shook his hand off nor socked  
him on the jaw. Instead, she returned her attention to the box. Okay...  
so she liked what he was going. He very cautiously ran his fingers up  
her nylon clad calf. Still and all, he would have preferred bare skin or  
even silk to man-made fibers, although silk would be far too hot to  
wear in August.

Her leg was warm under his palm and she smelled faintly floral, of  
lilac soap, which he preferred over the lavender. The rose was nice,  
too, but the lilac was gentler on the nose, less obtrusive. Every now  
and then she smelled sweeter, like honeysuckle. Yet lilac, mysterious  
and vaguely old fashioned, which was somehow very Scully.

The back of the knee had always been one of his favorite places, the  
skin tender and divine in texture, like hot cream. Moving up the thigh,  
thumb circling gently, seeking out hidden flaws in the fabric. An  
abrupt end to the smooth as his hand discovered that his favorite  
forensic pathologist was not, indeed, wearing hose after all. Exploring  
with his fingertips, he felt three ridges topped with lace, and then the  
real Scully.

Thigh-high's, god bless'em.

Mulder heard muted voices and looked towards the door at the same  
time as Scully. She cleared her throat, yet still made no move to stop  
what he was doing. The door was closed but not locked. He wasn't  
stupid enough to leave her side, because if he lifted one finger she'd  
reconsider and bolt. Uh unh, he wasn't going to let that happen, not  
when he had the opportunity of a lifetime. She was worth the risk.

With a lick of his lips he slipped his hand higher, touched the dry heat  
of cotton underwear and the promise of moist heaven beyond should  
he dare to breach the fabric barrier. He lightly ran the very tips of his  
fingers up the sweet curve of her sex and felt her shiver in response.  
When she shifted and spread her legs ever so slightly, he knew he'd  
won the battle. The war was a different matter entirely.

Stepping closer, he slid his other hand up her skirt almost to her hip,  
pressing her backwards for easier access. The cotton grew  
increasingly damp as he switched from simple up and down strokes  
to S patterns and circles. His favorite scent of all - Aroused Woman -  
filled the air like fine mist. She was trying hard not to move, but her  
hips kept shuddering and stuttering. He urged her to turn around  
with the hand on her hip, and oh, she did.

And now that he had her sitting on the penultimate step of the roller  
ladder, what was he going to do? As attractive as the thought was of  
burying his face between her legs, he had the feeling that was farther  
than she wanted to go, at least in the office with nothing but an  
unlocked door and innumerable spy-ears between them and the rest  
of the Bureau.

Looking straight into her eyes, Mulder pushed Scully's skirt halfway  
up her thighs, then spread her legs, hooking her feet on the outside of  
the railing supports. She stared back, eyes wide, cheeks stained,  
breath coming short.

He supressed a groan and went to work. He didn't bother to remove  
her underwear, preferring to wait hopefully for a better, longer  
opportunity to see heaven on earth. One where they'd both be naked.  
So he slipped his fingers beneath the leg elastics and stroked away.

Her flesh burned, uncooled by female juices and exposure to air.  
Finding a rhythm and pattern she seemed to like, if the movement of  
her hips was anything to go by, he slowly entered her with two  
fingers. She grimaced, he couldn't tell if in pain or pleasure, then  
closed her eyes as he began to curl against that little internal swelling,  
his other hand circling the outer swelling above. Liquid flooded his  
palm and he used it to moisten the rest of her sex. He rubbed, he  
caressed, he petted. Scully bit her lower lip and clung to the railings  
with both hands.

Apart from their breathing the office was eerily quiet. No clicking of  
keys, not a whisper of paper being shuffled or the grinding roll of a  
drawer being pulled out of a metal filing cabinet. Miraculously the  
phones didn't ring and no one knocked on the door.

Christ, he was hard enough to hammer nails into sheetrock and he  
wasn't going to do a damn thing about it until he got home. This was  
a memory to be savored in private, when he could lie on the couch and  
on the bed and what the hell, maybe he'd try out the kitchen, too, and  
jerk himself senseless. Course he might have to leave work early. In  
the meantime, though, Scully was trembling and on the verge.  
Mulder, she mouthed, and jerked silently against his hand.

Mulder would have gone on to see if she was multi-orgasmic, but she  
slammed her thighs together and then forcibly removed his hands,  
stony expression firmly in place. She stood up and brushed her skirt  
down her legs, headed out of the office without meeting his gaze.  
Probably on her way to the bathroom. Time to regroup, no doubt. He  
didn't mind, he could use a little regrouping himself.

He glanced around the office, raised his hands to his face, sniffed.  
Licked his palm and fingers clean. There was no discernible flavor  
that he could detect. God, she'd kill him if she knew. Perhaps she'd be  
flattered instead. Maybe she'd think it was really romantic? In some  
weird, alternate universe kind of way?

As much as he hated to do it, Mulder washed his hands and resigned  
himself to the probability of Scully conveniently forgetting the past  
twenty minutes. Well, at least he had Paris.

Some time later she returned with two cups of coffee and two pain au  
chocolat, putting one of each on his desk. Which was certainly a good  
sign, even if she didn't look him in the eye. In fact, she was studiously  
avoiding eye contact with any part of his body at all. She sat down  
and began perusing the file once more.

Mulder took a sip of cofee - flavored lightly with unmanly hazelnut,  
his guilty favorite - and stared soulfully at the back of her head across  
the expanse of desk and floor. He pouted. He made puppy dog eyes.  
He sighed heavily, put a little whine into it.

Scully didn't turn around. "Stop it, Mulder."

He grinned. "Stop what?"

"That thing you're doing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Scully."

"I can hear you smiling."

"You want I should frown instead?"

"No," Her chin dropped and she shook her head. "Mulder - "

He waited. Would her pronouncement be doom or glory or some  
bizarre mix of the two?

"We should talk."

"Y'know, Scully, more men have been driven over the edge by those  
words than war, laundry, and watching childbirth combined. It's a  
proven fact."

Glaring over her shoulder, she said, "My house, seven o'clock, you're  
bringing dinner."

Held in her gaze, Mulder froze. "I am?"

"You are."

"What, exactly, are we going to talk about?"

Scully arched one perfect brow.

Mulder nodded. After a moment he said, "This won't come between  
us, Scully."

"I know."

"You do?"

She smiled without moving her lips. "I have faith."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know you make me want to (SHOUT)  
Throw my hands back and (SHOUT)  
Throw my head back and (SHOUT)  
Kick my heels up and (SHOUT) - Come on now  
Don't forget to say you will  
Don't forget to say-ay-ay-ay-ay (SAY YOU WILL)"

Shout  
-Otis Day & the Knights (Lulu version will do in a pinch)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes:
> 
> I worked long and hard on that ending and I still don't like it. Oh well.


End file.
